


Pitch Black

by Hobbyist_Writer



Series: Exception Verse [6]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6221395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbyist_Writer/pseuds/Hobbyist_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Pitch Black accidentally (and not-so accidentally) ran into that pesky annoyance who believed in him but didn't fear him (and ended up doing a good deed) plus one time he sought her on purpose (and maybe ended up giving a certain frost spirit a heart attack.)</p><p>Cross-posted from Fanfiction.net (under the title "Exception Verse, this would be Chapter 6)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pitch Black

Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, the Boogeyman, He-Who-Made-Things-Go-Bump-In-The-Night, was absolutely salivating. There was fear in the air! And after his latest defeat at the hands of those pesky Guardians, he was practically starved for a taste of that exquisite emotion.

But wait… What was this?

What a treat! He could nearly taste it, the fear was so strong, almost a physical manifestation. As he drew nearer to the source, the Boogeyman detected faint emotions mixed in. Oh, how sweet was the child’s despair! He felt giddy, almost.

Ah! The child...yes...it was her fear that tainted the air.

What could have caused it? A phobia? A nightmare?

He drew closer, slipped through the cracked-open window and slithered into the darkness beneath her bed. He scented the air again and tried to decipher the minute notes that flavored it. What did she fear? He had to know! Pitch would discover her fear, take it, twist it, and make her scream in terror.

Pitch’s sensitive ears picked up a noise from outside the room: Heavy footsteps, the tread uneven and ungainly. He couldn’t help but notice the child’s breathing getting heavier…

A man shouted from outside the room, repeatedly called what must be the child’s name. The fear in the room sky-rocketed. Near soundlessly, the girl dropped from the side of the bed and wriggled beneath it. She was so tiny that there was space for both of them, child and spirit, to hide without ever touching the other.

Sudden realization turned the taste of fear sour. Pitch was disgusted. How could he feed on this fear, knowing where it stemmed?

Another yell sent the child scurrying farther under the bed, and inadvertently bumping into the Boogeyman.

A breathless gasp. She rolled over and wide, fear-filled eyes met glowing, silver-gold ones.

The door slammed open and Pitch Black made a split second decision. “Shush”, a finger to his lips told her.

“Where are you?” The man shouted, clearly inebriated. He wrenched open the closet, then proceeded to ransack the room, searching for the girl. The man bent low to look under the bed…

She tensed, sure that she’d be found…

Pitch reached across what little space was left between the girl and him and drew her even closer.

The man looked under the bed…

...and saw only shadows.

Pitch drew the child with him, pulled her through the shadows and into his lair. He didn’t know why. The action was instinctive, mindless. He didn’t think, he simply _did_. Some part of him screamed that he could not leave the child— _any_ child—in that situation. It went against something inside of him, something Pitch had long thought to be dead.

She was shivering against him, whether in fear or shock Pitch was not sure. But her touch was ice cold and he vaguely remembered that such a chill was not good for children. Pitch let her cuddle closer, letting her leech what little warmth he produced.

But that wouldn’t work for very long and Pitch was _not_ equipped to pander to a child. His lair was shadows and darkness; it was a labyrinth of interconnected tunnels, stairs and halls, designed to boggle the bravest adventurer. Even here in the very center, where Pitch spent most of his time brooding before the great metal globe that showed all the believers in the world, it was far from “homey”.

Shadows could not clothe the child as they did him but Pitch could send them out to liberate something that would suit his purposes. That done, Pitch once again turned his attention to the girl in his arms.

She’d been silent the entire time but not emotionless. Tears ran down her cheeks but no sound, no sniff, no hiccough escaped her. Long buried instincts came to the fore and the Boogeyman found himself gently rocking the child. He allowed one hand to stroke her back, calming the child until she managed to relax slightly.

“Sleep child.” He whispered, “ _He_ cannot harm you here.”

And wonder of wonders, the child’s eyes fluttered close and her breathing eased until it reached the steady pattern that lead to sleep. The child let herself relax completely, save for her hands which remained fisted in his robes.

She fell asleep curled up in his arms. And Pitch—Pitch was the Nightmare King. He could not give the child pleasant dreams and Sanderson’s Dreamsand could not reach her within the darkness of his lair. But perhaps…

He drew gently, caressing fingers over her forehead. He could not give her good dreams but, if only for tonight, he could make her nightmares more mundane, could give her horrors that sent other children screaming to their parents. It would be a welcome break from her usual fare, he thought. He settled back into his black throne and cradled the tiny child close.

…only for tonight…

 

~ o ~ o ~ o ~

 

The second time the Boogieman encountered this exceptional child, she was still quite young, no older than ten even if Pitch took into account her small size. The second visit was driven mostly because of curiosity. Pitch Black didn't understand why the child was special. He simply knew that he was drawn to her. He didn't know why. He just knew that it was so.

So on that day, he appeared before her again, determined to discover why her fear—for all that he refused to feed on it—was so different…why her fear enticed him so.

He thought, perhaps, that she only seemed so small because of the circumstances of their first meeting…but no. She was still so much smaller than most children her age, so tiny and delicate-looking. Pitch was almost sure that a single touch would shatter her.

“Are you the monster under my bed?” She asked him, when he separated from the shadows in her room.

Pitch glided closer, intrigued despite himself. "I am that and more." he told her, "I am the King of Nightmares, the Boogieman, Lord of Shadows"

But even his best shadows provoked little reaction. He bent closer, peering into her eyes. She gazed back, unafraid.

“There are scarier monsters.” She told him softly, her too-young eyes holding knowledge of much, much older people.

“You are…not afraid of me?” Pitch couldn’t comprehend it. Just like that first time, when he took her away and she curled up so trustingly in his embrace, the girl _saw_ him, _believed_ in him, but—didn’t fear _him_.

Anger rose up within him. He would not be bested by this slip of a girl! He would show her exactly _why_ the Nightmare King ought to be feared!

But wait, the memory of their first meeting stopped his anger cold. The scent of fear was still there. Sweet and thick. The child _was_ afraid…but not of him. Hidden behind amateur masks and shields, yes, but the fear was there…and they were not the fears of a child.

“Some fear is good.” She told him simply, “It keeps kids from doing stupid things…most of the time.”

Pitch pulled his shadows back and allowed her to see him as he usually appeared: a tall, gray-skinned man dressed in a flowing, shadowy, black robe.

“Then you see something that has eluded my detractors for thousands of years.” Pitch told her. He hesitated but continued, “Your fears though…they are _more_ than what they should be.”

She was silent. Pitch had the distinct impression that she had folded into herself, trying to take up even less space than she already did.

“Do you remember me?” he asked, “Do you remember when we first met?”

“You were the monster under my bed.” She said in a whisper, “You took me away from the monster outside it.”

“Would you come with me again?” What was it about this girl that made Pitch make these out-of-character decisions? Why was he even thinking about doing what he was about to do? “Come outside with me?” he asked again.

Her fear spiked. _He_ made her believe that there was nothing but more monsters outside; that the world was filled with cruel people. What else could she believe, when no one had shown her otherwise?

“Your fear is unnecessary.” Pitch Black said curtly, “I feed on fear itself, _yours_ makes my appetite go away.”

She scrunched up even smaller, “I’m sorry.”

Pitch sighed impatiently, “It’s not your fault, child. Come.” He gestured to her, “I have something to show you. Perhaps it will help.”

“I don’t want to go outside.” It was said in a whisper. Pitch heard the quiver in her voice and knew that the monster masquerading as a human was at fault.

“Why not, child?” Did she even know _what_ she feared outside? Surely outside was better than whatever torments befell her inside?

She didn’t answer but Pitch felt that he knew. Better the known than the unknown. But she was _so young_. She should be curious and tumbling into everything she could explore. Then he could leap out of those dark alleys and send her running back in fright. But no. She was too afraid of seeing even more cruelty and malice that she would rather lock herself in, would rather deliberately close her eyes to the possibilities of the outside world.

It would just not do. Her fear was wasted here. Pitch would not allow such a delectable source of belief to be tainted with the miasma that surrounded this house…or more precisely, the creature that lived here and kept the child under his thumb.

There had to be a way…

Pitch knew for a fact that the Sandman was close by. He wanted to show the golden streams of sand to her. Perhaps, if they stayed outside…if he was careful and didn’t draw attention to himself…he could coax a good dream to the child.

Decision made, Pitch immediately put thoughts to action.

“Child. You remember when I first visited you? You hid under the bed… _he_ came but when he looked in your hiding place…”

“He didn’t see me!” she almost sounded excited.

Pitch spread his shadows around him like a cloak, “See here? I will hide us in the shadows—just like I did before. No need to be afraid of the monsters outside if they cannot see us, yes?”

She was still hesitant but she nodded anyway.

“Then come, little one. It is night and shadows abound. I am the Boogieman! The Nightmare King! And the night is my domain. If I so will it, then no one will see you. I will be right there, beside you. So come, come out and see!”

So the girl did. Foolish child that she was. She believed him, placed her hand in his, and he drew her close and whisked them away into the shadows.

They reappeared somewhere outside, just within the borders of the forest. Pitch was careful to remain within the shadows of the trees. He didn’t want to draw Sanderson’s attention, after all. He just needed to show the child the golden streams of Dreamsand. Surely that would be enough to bring some light to her dreams?

“Can you see them?” he asked her. Their position wasn’t the best. It would have been better if they could go out into a clearing or somewhere with less trees. Perhaps he could bring her _up_ one of the trees…

“See what?”

Pitch blinked down at her. From where they were, she should have seen at least glimpses of the bright, golden Dreamsand. It wasn’t exactly easy to miss.

“The Dreamsand? Can you not see the golden streams that frolic through the sky?”

She squinted through the tree branches overhead, studying what bits of sky there was to see. “Dreamsand?” she parroted, “Do you mean stars?”

“Of course not, silly child!” he snipped, “Do you not know of the Sandman, he who gives good dreams to little children such as yourself?”

“There’s a man who gives kids good dreams?”

And then she just drooped. Something undefinably sad and hopeless encompassing her entire being. Pitch hissed in agitation. He was beginning to taste even her other emotions…just _how_ was this possible?

“Why hasn’t he given me any?”

The plaintive tone tore something inside Pitch. He would gladly kill that useless pile of dirt for neglecting this child. What exactly was the point of their being _Guardians_ of Childhood if they couldn’t bloody guard them!

“Perhaps it was because you were hiding so well.” Pitch forced himself to say instead, anything— _anything—_ to soothe the hurt coming from the child, “His name is Sanderson Mansnoozie but most children know him as the Sandman.” He told her even as he picked her up and began striding towards a better vantage spot, “The Dreamsand is part of him, you see, and he uses it to travel around the world to deliver good dreams to children. But sometimes he is lazy and falls asleep in whatever contraption he’d formed that night.”

“But…” she said tentatively, “You said you give nightmares. You…you gave me nightmares but not…not about…” she trailed off.

“Yes. I give nightmares. Sanderson gives good dreams. We are…enemies…of a sort. Think of it more as two sides of the same thing. You cannot have bad dreams if you do not have good ones too.”

Pitch reached an open clearing just as another wave spiraled across the sky. He drew her attention with a pointed finger.

“There. Can you see the streams now?”

It took several long minutes and Pitch was momentarily afraid that the spectacle would end before she saw it. But there…tiny and flickering but present…belief bloomed in her and her eyes widened in wonder. Her quiet gasp was all the reward Pitch needed. The child needed to know that there were people out there who were not wholly bad. The idea of telling her about the Guardians set Pitch’s teeth on edge but belief in them would only help her. The Guardians may be imbecilic most of the time but they did mean well.

“Sanderson is not the only one, child. He is but one of four guardians whose task is to protect children. They protect children’s dreams, hopes, wonder and memories. There are monsters out here, yes, just as there are monsters inside—but that is not reason to give up. Fear, yes. But to give in, to despair completely, that is allowing those monsters to win. Here, in the dark, I am King. You are safe.”

“…I…I’m still scared…” she whispered, then buried her face in his robe, “…I don’t want to go back…” she admitted.

Pitch sighed, “The night is young yet. Look up, child, or you will miss what I brought you here to show you.”

She looked up and watched the golden sand cavort across the star-sprinkled sky. Her head never left its position on his chest. She seemed utterly content to watch the spectacle from the ‘safety’ of the Boogieman’s arms.

Before the show ended—and Sanderson left to bring good dreams to another place—the child has fallen asleep in Pitch’s arms once again. So only the trees and the Moon heard Pitch’s soft, heartfelt promise:

“You will be safe, I swear it, as long as I am with you.”

 

~ o ~ o ~ o ~

 

“Are you a bully?”

The question came out of the blue during one of his visits to that strange girl. It took Pitch Black completely by surprise. He narrowed his eyes at her but she only looked back at him with a curious expression.

“Because the other kids, the young ones and even some of the older kids, are scared stiff of you.”

Oh, he regretted the day she learned that she had no reason to fear him.

“...to some...I am.” He finally ground out.

“Why?”

“Because that is the way of things. If a light shines, shadows are born. One cannot exist without the other. This is simply my role to play.”

“Why aren’t you a bully to me?” Unspoken was her true question: _Why did you help me back then? Why are you_ still _helping me?_

“I think you had enough bullies in your life without me being another, don’t you agree?”

Her brow furrowed in thought but finally she nodded and Pitch thought that was the end of it.

“But why?”

Pitch Black sighed, “You…are special somehow. I’m uncertain as to why. Also…also, you remind me of a girl...a girl who was once the daughter of a man named Kozmotis Pitchiner.”

“Who’s…”

“Pitchiner? I suppose he’s like one of those infernal Guardians...a hero, of sorts. Of course, to him, he was merely doing his duty...to safeguard his people...his daughter, who he dearly loved.”

“Will you tell me about him?” she prompted when he fell silent.

“And why would I want to do that?”

She shrugged, “I like stories. I’ll tell your story to other kids if you tell me about Kozmotis. I’ll make them good and scary, promise! You’ll have tons of believers in no time.”

Pitch wanted to scoff. Kozmotis Pitchiner was gone. All that remained was Pitch Black. Why would he want to drag the sordid matter back into the light? Pitch Black was _all_ that remained!

…so it wouldn’t hurt, would it? To tell her his story…

“Wait!” she exclaimed.

Pitch watched in consternation as she crawled into his lap and made herself comfortable, apparently settling in for a long story.

“ _What_ do you think you’re doing,” it was delivered in such a deadpan voice, it could barely be called a question.

“You always hold me like this when you visit.” She said oh-so-innocently, “You usually wait until I’m sleeping. I just thought I’d save you the trouble.”

Try as he might, Pitch knew the truth. The child had him wrapped around her tiny fingers. Just this one last time, he told himself. So he didn’t fight it, merely got into a more comfortable position (which incidentally pulled her into a tighter embrace) and began to speak.

He spun the tale of Kozmotis Pitchiner, the Lord High General of the Galaxies, Hero of the Golden Age, and father of Emily Jane, how the man rose, conquered, and finally fell…

 

~ o ~ o ~ o ~

 

Pitch Black sulked about in the shadows near a small county town. He had been lying low, biding his time…waiting for the perfect moment to wrest control from those infernal do-gooder Guardians.

His experiments with the corrupted dream sand, that he'd so painstakingly collected, were going well...all he really needed was a vic--test subject to try them out on. And so...here he was, in search of a likely candidate for a nightmare.

A flare of light in the near darkness attracted the Nightmare King's attention. Slipping though the shadows, he found a fairly large group of young teenagers gathered around a large bonfire, each with his or her own sleeping bag. It was obviously a camp-out.

Pitch grinned. Here was his chance, practically served to him on a silver platter! He glanced up at the dim half-moon and knew that the Man in the Moon couldn't stop him. The teenagers were all just past the age of most believers.

He, unlike the other Guardians, was not completely made powerless by lack of belief. Pitch Black fed on fear...and everyone feared something. Children, teenagers, adults--their age didn't matter--they all felt fear and therefore fell under his domain.

Pitch inhaled. His senses could taste their apprehension. They were camped just inside the forest, a forest they were starting to realize was very different in the dark, and they were all by themselves, the nearest house was a couple of miles away. Pitch sent his shadows to fill the trees that circled the little campsite, encouraging the emotions that rolled off the teens.

They were laughing and joking, filled with false bravado and excitement.

"A story! A story! Let's have a story!" one called.

"Yes, a story!"

The cry was caught up by the other teens; they all turned to one of the few in the group who was truly unafraid of being out late. They cajoled the female for a story.

"...and none of the fairy tale rubbish you tell the younger kids." one boy ordered.

The girl, who was obviously selected as the story teller, scowled at the boy.

"You keep your opinions to yourself! They're not rubbish."

"They are! You shouldn't be filling the kid's heads with them!"

"Ha! You're one to talk, you believed in the Easter Bunny all up to last year!"

The boy, who couldn't be older than thirteen, blustered and spluttered at the older girl. He drew himself up to continue the argument but was interrupted by one of the others.

"Put a sock into it, Rogers!" another boy shouted.

The others soon followed, worried that their story was at risk.

"Yeah!"

"Just be quiet and let 'er tell the story!"

Rogers scoffed but quieted.

"All right then." the girl said, sitting up straighter, "If we're all agreed that I am telling the story," she threw a nasty look in Rogers' direction, "What kind of story should I tell? An adventure story? Mystery? Suspense?"

"Horror!"

"Yes, tell a scary story!"

"Scary story! Please?"

The clamor for a horror story caught the entire group and soon they were all chanting for one.

"OKAY!" the story teller shouted, rising gracefully to her feet and gazing around the circle.

Pitch drew closer. A scary story? They were actively seeking to be frightened? Well, he shrugged to himself, they asked for it. He may as well acquiesce to their request. The story teller would be getting a little shadowy help with her story, he decided. After all, it would end up benefiting himself...and this story teller, though youthful, obviously had some experience.

She looked almost familiar, though Pitch was sure she was well past the age of most believers. She held herself upright, tall and straight in the flickering fire light. Then Pitch realized. It was his little believer, the one who had such delicious fears and yet was unafraid of the Boogeyman. She wasn’t so little anymore…Pitch was suddenly hit by how fast time flew for these mortals. He felt a brief pain at the thought of his little girl no longer seeing him but, no matter. Pitch would help her in this endeavor, if only for the memory of her companionship.

“In the dark of the night…” she intoned, and Pitch took the opportunity to deepen the shadows even more until the campfire seemed smaller and less bright, “When all are fast asleep in their beds, when the moon is dark and stars are dim, at a time…very much like right now…, the veil between this world and the _other_ is thin…

 

_“Have you ever felt, that creeping, sinking feeling that someone else is there; that crawling on your skin that mean eyes are staring, peering, lurking…but no one else is there?_

_Have you ever heard the footsteps that echo behind yours when you’re all alone and frightened; the noises without cause, those creaking, snapping,_ groaning _?_

 _Have you ever been so, so sure that_ something _is hiding in the shadows, seen something strange and terrifying out of the corner of your eye…only to turn and see nothing, nothing at all?_

_Have you ever woken in the night, covered in sweat and petrified, because icy fingers drew patterns on your spine?_

_I tell you now, you are not dreaming. You are not insane. There is reason to this madness and the reason is plain…_

_There_ are _things that lurk in the night._

_Ghasts, ghouls and spirits roam this world too. But like all things, they are stronger at certain seasons, days, times… And this time, this time is when they are strongest._

_They are the footsteps that are not echoes, the wind that howls at night, they are the presence in the darkness when you call out ‘who’s there?’_

_Be wary! Be afraid! Because you’re_ not _alone at night…"_

 

Pitch had a blast. The Boogieman performed what may have been his finest show yet. Shadows that took monstrous forms but went back to normal shadows when the teens spun around to look closer. Ghost winds that pulled at their hair and blankets and threatened to kill the fire. Night time noises echoed, multiplied beyond their usual volume.

The teenagers were already beginning to freak out. Pitch savored the taste of their fear. Their fear was harmless but oh! How sweet it was to him! A terrible grin spread across his face when a thought occurred to him. He sneaked up to the boy who dared malign the Nightmare King’s chosen child…

Just before his child’s story reached its climax, Pitch stretched ghostly fingers, just this shade of corporeal, toward the teen aged boy. It didn’t matter that the boy didn’t believe in the Boogieman, he was captured by the story and the very thought of what-could-be-out-there was enough to grant Pitch this boon.

Wait… wait…

Now!

Pitch, now directly behind the boy, wrapped bony fingers around his throat and _squeezed_. He couldn’t see the boy’s face but he felt the choke and the sudden trembling in the boy’s limbs. Hands scrambled at Pitch’s grip but it made no difference. Pitch was only slightly corporeal to these children. They wouldn’t see him…couldn’t touch him…

Pitch released the boy.

The boy _screamed_.

That set off the other teenagers. Pitch’s shadow play and the story had done its work. Now all the children were seeing horrors and monsters in the darkness. They half-imagined creatures seen though the corner of the eye. It was a panicked, screaming, terrified mess. The teens scrambled up, huddled together, yet still there were frightened screams and surprised yells at the slightest movement. They couldn’t seem to decide whether to stay in the frightening place or leave and brave the unknown horrors that awaited them on the path back to town.

Pitch couldn’t help it. He laughed. Deep and dark and full of amused malice. The stuff villains were made of.

Oh, their screams were music to his ears.

It took a long, long while but eventually the group settled down to sleep. And if they were huddled in a tighter circle than previously, none of them said anything. The moment all the children were asleep, Pitch sent his Nightmare sand to each child. The glittering, black sand swirled to life above each child.

Pitch grinned, all sharp teeth and edges, the sand worked better than expected. He could _feel_ himself getting stronger. Fear fed on fear and the nightmares just made it grow all the faster.

“Pitch.”

It was the child— _his_ child—still awake after all.

“Child.” He acknowledged, and went back to monitoring the performance of the corrupted Dreamsand.

She got up and sidled up to him. She stood next to him, not quite touching. In silence, they watched the slumbering forms of the teens. Every now and then, one would twitch or jerk away from some unseen fright. They muttered, mumbled, and even screamed a time or two. Pitch’s not-so-little believer looked at the swirling black sand curiously. She held her hands firmly behind her back to avoid the temptation to touch.

“Thanks for the back up.” She said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that stretched between the two.

Pitch waved her gratitude away, dismissive. “It helped me more. The fear your story inspired was delicious. It also gave me an opportunity to test my Nightmares.”

“It looks like Sandy’s Dreamsand.”

“You should know what it looks like.” He said with a scoff, “It’s a corrupted form. This was the first working prototype.”

“I can tell your story too, you know.” She said, apropos of nothing, “I can tell them about who you are. They’d believe in you too…”

“No child.” The Nightmare King cut her off sharply. He gentled his tone when she startled, “Thank you…but no. We each have our part to play. Mine is that of the villain, remember? It’s part of the balance that is Life. I have accepted that.”

He gave her a small smile, “It is enough that you know.”

“Good.”

What?

“I’m selfish. I don’t want to share you with anyone else.” She said stubbornly.

He chuckled at that, “Very well, I shall continue to be your protector and only yours, child.”

“How long will it last?” she asked.

“Until morning.” He answered promptly, “The nightmare should fade when they wake or when the sun rises. If not, I will step in. You may as well make yourself comfortable.” Pitch gave her a sharp look, “You are too old to be carried.” He told her, before she could speak.

She looked up at him sheepishly, “You haven’t visited me in a while.” She said and pouted just a tiny bit.

And Pitch—how did this child become so powerful?—his shadows came up and formed a throne. He sat down and spread his arms in an unspoken invitation.

She surprised him yet again by ensconcing herself into the circle of his arms. “I’ll tell scary stories about you then.” She told him, seemingly out of the blue, “So you’ll be the most frightening monster to all the kids who hear my stories. You’ll be their monster—so that other monsters can’t touch them.” She yawned, “But you’ll be _my_ Guardian. I don’t need those pesky, colorful imbeciles.”

Pitch couldn’t help but snicker at her description of his opponents. Apparently, for all that she told stories about the other Guardians, her personal opinion of them was colored, perhaps permanently, by his own.

“Sleep child.” He told her, even as he made himself more comfortable, “My experiment has yet to run its course. You can rest awhile with me.”

And, by all the old gods, she just rested her head on his chest as if she were that little girl again and promptly fell asleep. Her trust in him, absolute.

The dreaded and feared Boogeyman harrumphed quietly, “Just tonight, little one, just for tonight.”

 

~ o ~ o ~ o ~

 

Through the years, the Boogieman managed to visit the girl again and again. Sometimes the visits were regular, once a week, nine o’clock on the dot. Other times, Pitch would go weeks, even months without visiting her. Somehow, they managed. And she never, not once, stopped believing in him.

It was rare that the two unlikely companions had a scheduled visit. More often, visits happened when Pitch was nearby and she was not otherwise occupied. Which gave the Nightmare King plenty of reason for his reaction…

Pitch Black was angry. Incensed, even. Perhaps not quite yet enraged but definitely on the brink of it. The shadows, that seemed perpetually attached to him, lashed angrily. The darkness deepened where ever he went and sleeping children of all ages cried out in fear, seeing a great, shadowy, snarling mass in their dreams.

HOW DARE SHE?

He lashed out at the nearest object. Black sand formed into a huge scythe and sent a thick oak tree crashing to the ground. A rage-driven flurry of blows turned the felled tree into so much kindling. The exertion cooled the king’s head and, though he was still angry, Pitch managed to tap into that peculiar bond that connected him to his mortal.

He could feel it, stronger now that he was within the vicinity of her home town; it stretched out toward the busier areas of town. He could taste _her_ emotions…

Anticipation. Slight trepidation. Edged with excitement.

_There!_

The shadows engulfed him and, between one thought and the next, he was by her side.

The room where Pitch found himself was filled with bright colors. Bright and cheerful. There were shelved filled with toys, games, activities, and other supplies to keep young children entertained. There were large, illustrated books with thick pages, perfect for beginning readers. Soft toys, pillows, and rugs were gathered in a corner, an ideal spot to be quiet and read or perhaps take a nap. Miniature tables and chairs, sized for toddlers, occupied one side of the room. There were areas for specialized activities, designated by differing patterns and colors. Somehow the mismatch made a flowing whole.

But the room’s main attraction was a huge mural. It covered the entirety of two adjacent walls and spilled out onto the other walls to transition to more simplistic designs. The mural was of an enchanted forest. One wall showed the scene in daylight and the other was shrouded in the dim, half-light of dusk.

The daytime forest was filled with woodland creatures, flowering plants covered the forest floor, and scattered throughout the trees were tiny glimpses of fairies, dryads, nymphs and other forest spirits.

But Pitch was drawn to the nighttime forest. The trees seemed darker there, less welcoming than their counterparts. The creatures also took a darker turn. Here was a wolf with glowing yellow eyes. There, one would catch a glimpse of silvery unicorns and will-o-wisps.

Pitch studied the mural carefully and paused right in front of a depiction of an owl in shadow. Only the owl’s eyes gave away its hiding spot. No, wait…that wasn’t quite right… Casual viewers would easily mistake those eyes for that of an owl but Pitch recognized them. Silver-gold eyes, reminiscent of an eclipse… His eyes…

“There’s always that one kid…”

 _I know_. Pitch wanted to say. _I understand._ Instead he said nothing, merely offered his arm to the young woman he’d come to visit. She took his arm and the shadows covered them, pulling them though that other space and spitting them out inside the woman’s flat.

Dinner and a change of clothes later, the two found themselves curled up on the sofa. Pitch lounged idly and the woman curled up against him.

“Are you certain?”

The question was one that had been repeated several times over the years. The woman had been a willing test subject for Pitch’s corrupted Dreamsand. Her reactions and input allowed Pitch to fine-tune his new weapon. Every time they met with the intention of testing the sand, every time Pitch asked her the question, her answer was the same. Still, Pitch needed to ask, needed the reassurance.

“Yes.”

“I believe this is the one. I will no longer have need of your services as a test subject.” He told her, even as his free hand idly played with the glittering black sand.

“I don’t mind.” She said, “You know I don’t.”

 _But I do._ Pitch didn’t say.

“Very well. Go to sleep, child. We shall see how this version fairs.”

His child always slept better when Pitch was nearby. It didn’t take long for her to drop off to sleep. Pitch then allowed the Nightmare sand to touch her, let it swirl above her head and draw out her fears.

The Nightmare sand had come a long way from that first prototype years and years ago. Pitch tried various ways of corrupting the Dreamsand, differing the length of time, the amount of fear he inserted into dreams. Previous versions had either worked too slow and gave the child time to turn the nightmare back into a regular dream. Others worked too fast, brought too much fear in too short a time, which woke the child ahead of time and didn’t allow Pitch to feed properly. Still others needed Pitch to monitor the nightmare carefully, orchestrating the entire sequence from start to finish…not a very effective method.

This time—this time, Pitch was sure he’d gotten it right.

His child whimpered in her sleep. _His child_ …not a child any longer. Pitch came to sudden, unwanted realization that his little believer was a woman grown. Perhaps he may not lose her to the disbelief that came with age but he would _still_ lose her. His believer—his little one, no matter how big she got—was _mortal_. She would grow old and eventually, like the rest of her kin, _die._

This couldn’t be… There had to be a way.

He couldn’t lose her—couldn’t lose another daughter—it would break him all over again. She had to stay with him, forever and ever. She _had_ to. Where would he be without his little believer who had such faith and trust in him?

Pitch’s mental flailing came to an abrupt stop when the ear-piercing screech of pure terror shattered the stillness.

“What in the?” Pitch held tightly onto the struggling woman, “Wake up, child! It’s only a dream!”

But she remained trapped in the nightmare. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her eyes were wide open yet she still was unaware of her surroundings. She fought like a cornered wild thing, as if something were attacking her.

Pitch glanced at the Nightmare, unlike Sanderson’s Dreamsand, the Nightmares took the form of skeletal horses. This one was nothing like the mare it had begun the night as.

Huge and bulging, the black stallion snorted angrily, razor sharp hooves pawed the air. The beast had found a fear, one so great that it had turned the Nightmare into a Night Terror. What could have possibly…

Pitch stilled. It had been years ago but those childhood memories could still have an effect on the woman. They’d never really talked about it, back then. And now, those terrible times had come back to haunt his precious child.

The Night Terror was still feeding on his child’s fears, and grew larger and deadlier with each drop of fear it consumed. Pitch pulled the woman away from the beast, trying to put some distance between the two. Still, she would not wake, no matter how hard he shook her.

Another terrified scream galvanized Pitch into action. He abandoned the woman, instinctively knowing that he would not be able to wake her through normal means. Instead, he threw himself at the beastly creature and forcibly wrestled the brute away. The Terror fought hard, huge teeth snapped at Pitch and hooves came perilously close to breaking his bones, but Pitch was determined and he would not be swayed.

The Nightmare was brought under control and the excess fear was absorbed by the Nightmare King. Already the woman’s frightened screaming had devolved into tearful sobs and whimpers. Pitch gathered the woman into his arms and held her tight.

“Shhh, shhh, my child.” Pitch whispered, rocking slightly to calm the woman faster, “Wake now. The nightmare’s passed. Open your eyes.”

It took some time but Pitch kept up the soothing murmur and eventually the female’s eyes opened.

“P…pitch?”

His arms tightened but she didn’t seem to mind. His child, for she was his no matter what else happened, clutched at his robes. She sought comfort the same way she did so many years ago when she was but a tiny wisp of a child.

“He is gone. Many year gone. You are safe, I swear it…”

“As long as you’re around.” She finished.

He smiled gently down at her, “Yes. For I am your protector and I shall keep you safe.”

“And you’ll hold me…”

“Just this one last time.”

The old promise, the one he made to her and the one Pitch made to himself but never kept, had become a touchstone for them. It meant safety and care. It was the “ _I love you”_ that neither managed to say.

“Sleep, child.” Pitch said softly, “No more dreams tonight.”

So she slept, comforted by the embrace of her protector.

 

~ o ~ o ~ o ~

 

_“Pitch!”_

_“Frost!”_

_Staff and scythe alike were immediately brought into ready positions._

_“What are you doing here?” Ice and shadows spat the same question at the other._

_Jack backed down first, his shoulders slumped forward, “I don’t have time for this!” he whined, “I’m gonna miss story time!”_

_Story time?_

_“Just—just don’t_ do _anything, okay?” the Winter Spirit said to the Boogieman, “We can fight after, if you really want to.”_

 _“What_ are _you babbling about, Frost?” Pitch snapped._

_“Story time! I—she’s telling stories now and I’m gonna miss it!!”_

_And the sprite just leapt straight up and let the Wind carry him away._

_“Good riddance.” Pitch muttered to himself then froze as realization hit him._

_Frost was flying in the direction of_ his _child’s town. He was babbling about a story teller._ His _child told the best stories. Frost had_ met _his child. Frost would befriend his child._

_This…this would not be tolerated…_

_For all that the frostling’s Wind was fast, Pitch’s shadows were faster. Even though the younger spirit had a head start, Pitch arrived at his child’s side seconds before Frost._

_Story telling was over for the day. Pitch grinned at the thought of depriving Frost of it. The foolish sprite didn’t deserve_ his _child’s stories._

_“I’m here! Did I make it?”_

_Loud. He was loud and boisterous. Of course his child wouldn’t like him. His child preferred the silence of the night. Never this snow and ice and_ Joy _. …at least, Pitch wanted to believe so._

 _But what!_ His _child_ smiled _at the frostling!! THIS HAD GONE FAR ENOUGH!_

_Pitch laughed evilly as he materialized behind his child. Frost’s eyes widened in surprise and fear but the Guardian of Joy was too slow. Already Pitch had dragged his child to him and the shadows were already pulling them away._

_“NO!” Frost lunged at them but it was too little, too late._

_They were gone._

_“…Not that I mind but_ why _did you kidnap me?”_

_And Pitch laughed and laughed because his child was with him, wrapped safe in his arms, and all was right in the world._

 

Fin…

 

 

…for now.

**Author's Note:**

> ***SPOILER ALERT***
> 
> Pitch Black was the first spirit to meet the exception! Didn't expect that!
> 
> No really. This has taken me several years to write but the idea to do stories for the other Guardians took hold in my head and I had to write them. Pitch didn't allow himself to be left by the wayside and that resulted in this massive (for me) one-shot. 
> 
> Pitch is a glory hog. It was supposed to be like the other stories (how he met the exception for the first time) but he stole the spotlight and it became a 5+1 fic.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it as much (or more since this thing gave me headaches too) as I enjoyed writing this.


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